Nemesis Visits

Mary takes me through to the kitchen and introduces me to Paul, the chef, and Steve his assistant. "And over here is Angie, who helps with the wash-up and some of the prep..." I turn to follow her gesture.

"Agnieszka!" I exclaim in surprise.

"Oh, Miss, er Thomas?" she replies, equally surprised. "You are here?"

"Maxie's just joined as a waitress, Angie. So you two know each other then?"

"Well, sort of. Agnieszka used to be my brother's cleaner but I can't afford to pay her so this morning I had to..."

"You give me sack!" she interrupts in an angry tone.

"Yes, but only because I have no money to pay you; I gave you practically a quarter of all the money I have as compensation."

"A quarter?" Mary asks, "That seems a lot to take from Maxie, Angie."

"She has a nice place to live, and I need money for rent and food and things too," Agnieszka retorts and Mary is about to speak again.

"No, it's okay, Mary," I tell her, "It was only a hundred and twenty quid. Look, Agnieszka: okay, I do get to live there for free but I don't have access to Max's money. I paid you as much as I could but, well, if I had Max's money would I be working here?" She looks at me and finally nods.

"Is true, I guess. You are nicer person than your brother, I think. That's why you are poor," she gives a slight smile.

"Angie's right," Mary agrees, "better to be good but poor than to be rich and a bastard!"

"So, no hard feelings, Agnieszka?" I ask. I am surprised by how much I want her to accept me and think well of me; Max wouldn't have given a fuck about what a woman like her, a lowly cleaner, thought of him.

"Okay, Maxie. And you call me Angie like all the others, okay? You sound like my mother with your Agnieszka, Agnieszka, Agnieszka."

The evening passes steadily, though being a Monday night, it is not very busy. This suits me fine as there isn't the bustle and pressure while I'm still learning. It also gives me a little time to chat a bit with the others so that by the end of the evening I know more of Colin (he's gay, lives with his partner, John, and has a wickedly funny way of referring to customers), Paul and Steve the chefs (who are a bit of a double act, always bantering back and forth to point where, had I not heard Paul mention his wife and Steve his girlfriend, I might have thought them a couple!) and even Angie (whose boyfriend dumped her yesterday, which might explain her general anger and impatience with the world).

Okay, the pay is crap, not that I'll get any money until Friday, my feet are agony by the end and customers range from lovely to downright rude but, as I say goodnight to my new colleagues, and, in Mary's case at least, new friend, I find that I've enjoyed working more than I have in years and I feel good about myself.

I sleep very well.

CHAPTER 7: The Curse

My new life begins to settle down and I almost stop noticing my new body. Almost. I still have to concentrate on how I walk and speak at times and I'm sure the others at Leonardo's find me a bit eccentric occasionally. The thing I struggle most with is my wandering eye when it comes to attractive women, something Mary has noticed once or twice. I think I passed them off as my attention being caught by an item of clothing or jewellery each time but I wouldn't be surprised if she wonders about my sexuality. However, it doesn't seem to hinder our friendship and I'm always on my best behaviour with her, despite the crush that I suspect I'm developing towards her. I am very careful not to think about her when playing with myself; although this doesn't mean that women don't feature in my fantasies.

I'll confess: I have wondered what it would be like to be fucked by a guy -- not by a vicious, heartless wanker like Jason or Max, obviously, but lovingly and gently. I find the idea of my cunny being penetrated is a real turn on; what it would feel like, the intimacy, even the idea of a cock ejaculating inside me are all very arousing. However, the moment I include a guy on top of me, his hairy body, his face, kissing him... ugh, I cannot stand it. I'm such a crazy, mixed up bitch, as Max might say.

I'm still enjoying working at Leonardo's, on the whole. The hardest thing so far has been a large group of blokes late one evening, who had obviously all been drinking. Mary could tell I was nervous. "Just go and be friendly. They'll probably try and flirt a bit but if you're a good sport it usually gets you a bloody good tip at the end," she advised me. "Of course, if they start being drongos then you'll need to pick the ringleader and put him down a bit. Don't swear at him but, you know, find a way to mock him, just a little, and put him in his place. Understand?" I said I thought I did and Mary promised to keep an eye on me.

Mary's prediction was right and the flirting began almost from the start. What was much harder was the touching: several times I felt a hand rested or brushed against my thigh or bum as I took orders for starters and drinks. This 'accidental' contact continued and my ignoring it didn't help. It was noisy in the restaurant and, as I took orders for main courses, I had to bend forward to hear what was being said. Suddenly there were hands on my hips as one of the men squeezed past behind me. He ground himself against my bum and I could feel, as he no doubt intended, the solid, swollen lump of his erection in his trousers. My immediate instinct was to push him away and tell him to fuck off but before I could say or do anything he said loudly, for the benefit of his mates, "Oh, sorry, love. It was a bit hard to get past. I hope there are no hard feelings!"

The others at the table found his pathetic schoolboy humour the acme of hilarity and started laughing. I remembered Mary's advice about dealing with the ringleader. "Oh, don't worry," I told him calmly but equally loudly, "there was hard-ly anything to feel at all! Are you sure you want another pint of beer?" Okay, it wasn't Oscar Wilde but the men at the table laughed, and there were cat-calls of "She got you there, Rob!" The bloke looked annoyed at first but then had to pretend it was all just jokes, as I did. I glanced across at Mary who had been ready to intervene but she gave me a smile and a discreet thumbs-up.

My success helped my confidence tremendously and the next inappropriate hand got a gentle slap and a smile as I shook my head. "Don't be naughty!" I warned and the guy grinned but stopped trying to touch me. It calmed down a bit after that and I found that Mary was right: it was a bloody good tip that they left at the end.

"You done good, girl," Mary complimented me afterwards. "You dealt with that big galah grinding your arse perfectly."

"Yeah, thanks Mary, but I'd rather not have to put up with being groped for a bigger tip," I told her as we head to the staff room but she just shrugged as if it were just part of the job. As we pass Leon's little office we hear loud swearing and look in through the door.

"What's up, mate?" Mary asks.

"This bloody spreadsheet won't damn well work, that's what up. I've spent hours on it," he complains.

"Whoa, he's on his own there, isn't he Maxie? Sorry boss," she tells him regretfully.

"Actually, can I have a look?" I ask. He gives me a wary look before nodding and sitting back to allow me to look. I bend forward to study the spreadsheet. He's trying to set it up to collate the takings, wages and purchases with taxes and profit, and produce monthly totals. After a few minutes, I can see several errors and tell him so. "Shall I show you?" I ask and he slightly hesitantly agrees. "Here, the formula has a space in it... this formula that references the VAT rate needs that cell reference fixed," I edit the formula, talking as I type, "like that and then you can copy it down to the other cells, so... and the other one was... here, in this cell: you have IF in the formula so there should be another comma and a final closing bracket... There you go." I say straightening up.

"Er, thanks, Maxie, that was, er, very impressive," Leon says.

"No problem," I tell him as we turn to leave.

"What the fuck, Maxie; where did you learn to do that?" Mary asks, impressed.

"Oh, I erm, worked for a company a few years back and there was quite a lot of work on spreadsheets," I tell her. "That sort of shit sticks, you know?" I say laughing.

"You have hidden depths, Maxie, my girl, and no mistake," she laughs.

It's Monday, two weeks to the day after I began working at the restaurant, when Mary invites me on a girls' night out with her and her friends. "Neither of us is working next Saturday so come with me. Come on, it'll be a laugh and you can meet my mates. They're a good bunch and you don't seem to know many people around here."

The truth is I really don't want to go. Today and yesterday I've been feeling low and getting irritable and short-tempered over stupid things. I guess the strain of guarding what I do and say, of learning and coping with my new womanhood, is getting to me. Whatever it is, Mary is being very good and gentle with me as is Sophie, the other waitress. Paul just tells me to sort myself out when I get angry because the cuff of my white blouse gets stained by a blob of sauce on the service counter.

I've also been feeling a little achy and I'm worried I'm coming down with something so I intend just to spend tomorrow hiding indoors, maybe watch a film. The idea of chocolate is also very appealing, for some reason. However, Mary wants an answer about next Saturday and is not easily refused. "You'll feel better by then, won't you? Oh c'mon Maxie, girl, don't be a dag."

"Ask me tomorrow, Mary," I tell her and she reluctantly accepts.

I wake in the morning in agony: there is an intense, griping pain in my lower stomach that doubles me over in bed, curling me into the foetal position as I hug my arms around myself. The pain seems to radiate out, making my back and even my thighs ache, and I'm worried that I'm going to vomit. Several minutes pass and the pain eventually eases back from mind-numbing agony to merely severe pain. The minor respite is brief, and I am soon doubled up in such pain that I am crying and terrified.

Finally, the pain once again eases a little and I know that I need to take some painkillers. I crawl out of bed and totter, hunched over, to the bathroom. I take the painkillers and pray that they will help and do so quickly. I stagger over to plonk myself down on the toilet to pee. I've been a bit constipated and I wonder if that might be the cause of the pain. As I wipe myself I glance down at the piece of toilet paper in my hand to see it heavily smeared with blood. "What the fuck?" is my terrified response. I pull up my nightie and can see blood streaking the inside of my thighs: I'm bleeding, my cunny is bleeding; oh shit, what's happening? I part my cunny lips and can see more blood. The pain must be a haemorrhage inside and the sick feeling worsens with the added fear. I need to call an ambulance or I'm going to die, I'm sure of it. I'll be found her, dead with the blood flowing from my cunny...

Just then, I realize what's happening: I'm not dying it's my period. I should have guessed that Nemesis wouldn't have left out this part of being a woman. My abdomen cramps again, making me cry out. Fuck I had heard they weren't pleasant but this? Oh jeez, this hurts!

I need to get cleaned up and manage a quick shower. The warm water helps a little as does the fact that the painkillers start to work, taking the edge off the pain so at least it no longer completely incapacitates me. It still fucking hurts though.

I now face another problem: I have nothing to catch the blood; no, what are they called? Towels? Tampons? I wad up a big pad of toilet paper and press it over my slit. Grabbing a pair of panties I pull them on to hold the pad in place before slipping on a clean tee shirt.

I lie in bed on my side with the laptop on the mattress next to me as I try to use the Internet to catch up on years of not being a woman and understand what's happening to me and what to do about it. Eventually, I doze a bit until pain again wakes me.

It's now nine-thirty and I go to the bathroom to check the pad and find blood has leaked through, staining my panties. I cannot go out like this and realize I'm going to need help so I call Mary.

"G'day Maxie, how's it going?" she answers cheerily.

"Erm, not too good actually Mary; I've got a bit of a problem."

"Anything I can help you with?"

"Erm, yes. You're going to think I'm a, what was your word? Oh yes, a complete drongo but my period's just started and I've no sanitary towels. I forgot to get some..." My Internet research has at least given me the vocabulary to talk about this, thankfully.

"And you need your mate, Mary, to come and rescue you from being a bleeding mess!" she laughs. "Yup, Maxie, you're a drongo! I did think you had a touch of the old pre-menstruals yesterday."

"Yeah, I was a grumpy bitch wasn't I but... aaahhhh!" My stomach cramp s again.

"Hey, you alright there?"

"Oooh, yeah, sort of. It's just bloody painful cramps. The painkillers are only helping a bit." She asks what I'm taking and tells me not to be daft and that she'll buy me something much better, designed for menstrual pain.

"Oh Mary, you're an angel and I love you."

"Of course you do! Now, what's your address?" She takes my address down and promises to be as quick as she can before she rings off. I am deeply moved by her concern for me and her willingness to help out at the drop of a hat. She is, even after just two weeks, possibly the best friend I've ever had.

Half an hour later I open the door to her. "Wow, Maxie, nice place!" she enthuses, looking around in admiration.

"Yes, it is. I wish I could afford one like it!" I smile.

"I bet you hope your brother doesn't hurry back too soon," she laughs and the comment brings me conflicting emotions and thoughts. I do want to go back to being Max but, unexpectedly, I sort of don't mind the idea of being Maxine for a bit longer either, at least without periods and the resulting pain, mess and discomfort.

"No, let the bugger stay in Hong oooohhh," my stomach spasms painfully again.

"Here," she reaches into the carrier bag she's holding, taking out a small pink box, which she holds up and reads, "take... two of these." She hands me the box and I open it to find two sheets of blister-packed pills. I pop two out and hobble over to the sink to take them with some water. As I tip my head back to swallow the pills the front of my shirt lifts, revealing my blood-stained panties.

"Ooo, messy!" Mary observes.

"Oh, sorry about that; not a nice sight."

"Hey, no worries: we've all been there, at one time or another, haven't we? Here," she tosses me a packet of towels, which I catch, and then a second, which I drop. "I shoulda known: Pommie girls can't catch!" she laughs.

"I didn't expect the second one!" I protest.

"Well, it was 'buy one, get one free' wasn't it? Go and get cleaned up."

"Thanks, Mary, you're a diamond!" I tell her.

A while later I'm wrapped in Max's dressing gown sat on the sofa with my feet tucked under me and sipping tea with Mary. "How are you feeling now?" she asks.

"Much, much better, thanks. It's still sore but nothing like as bad as when I woke up. I..." I start and hesitate, unsure of how to express what I feel. "I want you to know how much I appreciate your friendship, Mary. With, you know, helping me get the job, and supporting me and now this... you really are a wonderful friend."

"Thanks, you're pretty good as a friend too. But instead of getting all sentimental, if I'm such a great friend come out on Saturday," she grins.

"Okay, I'd love to," I tell her. She seems so keen for me to come, how can I refuse my friend? My very pretty, kind and loving friend. I swallow hard: I don't know what real love feels like -- I'm not sure Max was really capable of feeling it, he was too self-obsessed -- but I have never felt so... so moved, so emotional, so attracted to and so wanting to make happy as I do to this woman. I don't know if this shows on my face but she gives me a strange look. I want to say something but she speaks first.

"That's the spirit. It'll be a good night and who knows, maybe we can pull a couple of guys, eh?"

"Um yeah, maybe, if I'm over my period." I don't know whether to be happy that I didn't say anything that might hurt our friendship or really fed up that she's obviously completely straight. Actually, I do know: I need and want Mary as my friend and I'm going to be her good friend back.

CHAPTER 8: A Night Out with the Girls

Four days, that's how long the pain and my first ever period lasted, and it lost me two days at work. Mary's tablets were good but after a couple of hours the pain gradually returned and there were limits as to how many I could take. Still, I survived, with Mary's help and kindness, though the thought that I could be going through the same again in just three and a half weeks frankly terrifies me.

Saturday arrives and, as agreed, I meet Mary at seven-thirty outside the library that's a short walk from the wine bar; she very kindly agreed to meet here rather than my having to walk into the bar alone. Mary's friends are a mixed bunch of half a dozen women ranging from their mid-twenties to their early forties. Wendy and Alison (the oldest woman) are married, more or less happily, Louise lives with her partner, James, Vicky and Paula have boyfriends and Jo is single but, like Mary, is definitely on the lookout for a man. There is a lot of joking and discussion on the failings and foibles of the men in their lives and of blokes in general. It is worryingly easy to join in these conversations simply by thinking of the sort of things that Max did and I find myself describing things he did as if he were an anonymous ex-boyfriend of mine.

Apart from Mary, I find I particularly like Alison, who shares Mary's warmth and friendliness and whose quirky sense of humour really appeals to me. She is a woman who has seen much of the world and apparently gets the joke. As the others, particularly Mary and Jo, flirt with men I find myself chatting comfortably with Paula and Alison, or Ali, as the others call her, who has no interest in other men. "I've Dave at home with our three sons and even the dog is a boy: why do I need more males in my life?" she replies laughing when the others try to get her involved.

Paula is a quiet woman who seems almost as uncomfortable as me at times and when Jo makes a particularly lewd (but really quite funny) comment to a passing bloke the look on Paula's face is particularly disapproving. "Are you alright, Paula," I ask and she gives a stiff nod in response.

"Paula's become a born-again Christian in the last few months," Ali explains, "I don't think she likes us much anymore because we're all such sinners!"

"No, that's not true," protests Paula, "if I didn't like you I wouldn't be here, would I? It's just Jo and the others shouldn't behave like that, it's..."

"Ungodly?" suggests Ali.

"I was going to say inappropriate, but it is ungodly too. Do you believe in God, Maxie?"

"Look out, Maxie, she'll try and convert you!" warns Vicky, joining our conversation and Paula gives her an annoyed look. I wonder what to say and decide, for once, I can tell the truth.

"I'm not sure that there's a God," I tell Paula, "but I really do believe that there's a Goddess. I wouldn't be the person I am now without Her," I conclude and saying this makes me smile.

"So, you're a pagan? A, what are they called?"

"Wiccan, I think," says Vicky, "or are they the witches."